


Summer at Quidditch Camp

by ImaRavenclaw



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, After Hogwarts, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Awkward Conversations, Best Friends, Bromance, Bromance to Romance, Cedric Diggory Lives, Cho Chang (mentioned) - Freeform, Co-coaching, Coaches, Drama, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Humor, Humour, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Making Out, Quidditch, Quidditch camp, Secret Crush, Summer, getting caught jerking off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23457568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaRavenclaw/pseuds/ImaRavenclaw
Summary: It’s Cedric’s first time back at Quidditch Camp since he ran away the year before on the eve of his scheduled departure. He’s excited to teach the kids and see his best friend again, but there’s a logistical problem involving the studio the two of them are staying in.For CheekyTorah-Lex’s There’s Only One Bed Challenge
Relationships: Cedric Diggory/Oliver Wood
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Summer at Quidditch Camp

I get an owl from Quidditch Camp the day that I am supposed to head out there. It tells me all the usual stuff: where the portkeys are located, the abilities of my group, and who my co-assistant leader and the certified coach that we’ll be helping are. This year I have two co-coaches. There’s a guy from Bulgaria that I don’t know and Oliver Wood.

  
Almost immediately after my letter from camp comes, I get another letter. It’s in a creamy ruby coloured envelope and has tightly curved writing on it. It’s from Oliver. I take my index finger and slide it underneath a spot on the envelope and start to rip it open.

_Cedric! Did you get your letter yet? Well, I got mine and I have to tell you that we’re co-captaining together again this year! How great is that? Last year I had to captain with Marcus Flint. I swear to God if you ditch out on me again at the last minute because of some exotic trip then I will steal all of your brooms and cast a spell that blacklists you from playing on a team ever again. I missed you, man._   
_Yours,_   
_Oliver_

  
The letter makes me smile. I stare at the _I missed you_ for a few seconds trying to ignore the _man_ written beside it. A man at the end of a letter means “I missed you, but only platonically” or “I want to see you again, but not if you’re in love with me.” The only reason I didn’t go back to Quidditch Camp last year is that I didn’t want to see Oliver every day feeling the feelings I have for him. I couldn’t stand him wanting to spend time with me not knowing what it was like in my head or finding out and not being able to reciprocate my feelings. I was originally going to go. I had my bags packed and everything ready. Then I got a letter from Cho. She was in Croatia, and she knew that I was supposed to be going to teach at camp, but that she knew it was going to be hard for me with Oliver there and that I should just come to join her instead. So, I did. On the biggest whim of my life, I swapped my quidditch robes for a bathing suit and booked the first commercial flight out the next day. I only sent Oliver a short message explaining my absence, and it’s kept me up ever since.

  
I’m not sure I’m ready to see him again. If he was angry he’s probably not anymore. Maybe just a little annoyed. When I go to bed that night it feels like little weights are hanging from my heart. I crawl under the cold covers and try not to see his face. Sleep doesn’t come to me that night.

  
The next morning my cat Elin wakes me up. I must have dozed off around three or four in the morning. There’s a rise of anxiety in my stomach as I realize that I’m late. I run around the apartment, flicking my wand at my things, giving Elin a renewable food supply and dressing. Fifteen minutes later I’m locking my door and running across a London street to use my neighbour’s floo network. My apartment, unfortunately, didn’t come equipped with a fireplace. She is in Majorca at the moment so I simply squat down to retrieve the key from under the glazed giraffe that guards her porch and acts as a gatekeeper. I walk into the foyer, careful not to let any of my dust fall onto the floor. 

  
When I’ve flooed to the abandoned countryside house I secure my items and head off to find the portkey. I should be breathing and trying to focus on making this summer a good one. Instead, I’m panicking about not getting there. I’m also panicking about what happens with Oliver when I do get there. There’s an old leather purse sitting in the field. It’s all wrinkled and faded from the sun. I’ve found the portkey.

  
Normally I would be able to land gracefully but this time I’m not focussed and the result is a rather large thud that will leave me aching for a few days. I look up to find the leader of the camp glowering down at me. “You’re twenty minutes late Diggory. Didn’t they teach you anything about punctuality at Hogwarts?” 

  
“Yes sir, they did,”

  
He walks away rolling his eyes, barking something about me needing to follow him right away. All I hear is, “Behind schedule,” and “damn Englishmen.” Mr. Graff grew up in Russia and went to Koldovstoretz and he never lets us forget it. I follow him in haste. No one would be idiotic enough to make him angry. He takes me to Alasdair Campbell, the now-retired team captain of the Montrose Magpies. Mr. Graff shoots me a glare, then leaves me with Alasdair. 

  
“Hey Diggory, good to have you back!” Alasdair smiles. I’ve always liked him. He’s in his late thirties but still an amazing player. An all-around good-tempered man, I’m glad that I’m working with him. The coach that Oliver and I had the year before last was positively despicable. He constantly had this look of unremarkable chagrin on his face and never stopped scrutinizing us. Oliver and I ended up having our teams switched two weeks from the end of summer because we were wandering around and drinking after the curfew. “C’mon, let’s take you to your hut.” I follow him through the camp. While we walk he reminds me of all of the rules and times. He lets me know that just in case I forget anything there’s always a guide in the studio. I can tell he feels silly giving me a replay of all of the rules. I’ve been coaching here for four years since I was eighteen. And before that, I came to this camp almost every summer to improve my skills. Without it, I honestly believe that I wouldn’t have become the Hufflepuff team captain. 

  
When we get to the hut I hear voices; one is a rough Slavic tone and the other is the same familiar brogue that melts my heart. I’m not sure I’m ready for this. For a split second I imagine running away again, but before I can decide to stay or leave Alasdair opens the door for me and I shuffle in. There he is. He beams at me and says, “Hey Ced.” 

  
The other guy strides towards me and reaches out a hand. “I am Rian. Ree-awn. Lots of people call me Ryan, so it’s not a big deal if you forget.” 

  
“Cedric,” I say and shake his hand. 

  
We all stand around awkwardly until Oliver pipes up. “So, I’m pretty sure there are two rooms in this studio. What a luxury huh?” He motions to the doors. Normally the studios have only one room with two or four beds in them. The kitchens are not particularly spacious but we take most of our meals in the Mess Hall normally.

There’s only one bathroom and Rian is quick to suggest that we come up with some sort of shower schedule. By the time The Issue comes up we’re already settled into the common areas and spread our stuff out everywhere.  
It’s twelve in the morning when Rian yawns and stands up. He heads to the bedroom on the left to see what the situation is. We never actually talked about who was sleeping where. It was probably just assumed that since Oliver and I know each other that we would take the double room. 

  
“Boys, we’ve got a problem,” Rian says from the door. 

  
“Yeah?”

  
“This is a closet,” Rian starts to laugh and turns to face us. 

  
“Well,” I say, “There must be three beds in the other room.” Oliver and I stand up and crowd around Rian at the next door. He opens it to reveal one single and one queen. “Ah,” 

  
“Well, we’ll just do the same arrangement. Ced and I are old pals, I really don’t mind sharing a bed if he doesn’t.” God, Oliver is always so smooth. What am I supposed to do about this? It won’t be weird for him until he finds out about my humungous crush on him! And then we’ll have to spend the whole frickin summer trapped in the same bed together. I can’t even complain to Alasdair because it will look so gay. He’ll know immediately that something is up.

  
“Yep, all good, works for me.” The words tumble out of my mouth awkwardly. 

  
“And look, they put our suitcases at the foot anyways,” Oliver says. His old trunk is sitting on top of my fancy initialled suitcase.

  
The first night I don’t sleep. It’s a disaster. We’re all at breakfast and I’m staring into my coffee while everyone else laughs and punches each other playfully, all glad to be back. “What’s wrong?” Oliver asks me, “Didn’t you sleep last night?”

  
I keep thinking about the hours I spent in the dark. Just as I was about to doze off an already asleep Oliver rolled over and splayed his arm across me. I spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, mortified. “Yeah, it’s just weird to be back.”

  
Oliver says, “I get you,” and puts his arm around me. I knock over my cereal bowl out of shock and everyone turns to stare at me. I deduce then and there that I never should have come back.

  
Out on the pitch, I almost forget about my lack of sleep. We have a good group this year from what I can tell so far. One of our kids is a captain on a Castelobruxo team. I’m surprised he didn’t go to a training camp closer to home. But this is one of the best places to come for summer quidditch training. There are ten groups at the camp: two junior teams that don’t play in the final three-week competition we have and eight high-level teams. The kids on the junior teams are about 10-14. We never get placed with those coaches because the year we did Oliver nearly strangled one of the kids for thinking he was tough stuff. I don’t mind kids but I’m not a very good teacher, so usually, we go with the 14s-16s. At the end of camp, the eight older teams do playoffs against each other. When I was young I always got a lot of flack for ditching summer plans with friends to come here. Many people don’t realize that you can make incredibly influential connections here. Most of the reference letters I’ve gotten to join real league teams are from my old coaches. 

  
The day is filled with drills, smiling kids, and freshly mown grass. Every once in awhile I curl my toes inside my shoes, trying not to think about Oliver. But the sunshine feels good on my skin and I’m trying to think of what it might have been like to be here last year. Maybe skipping out only made the situation worse.   
Night two comes to a close and I’m ready to suggest sleeping outside. I try to brush it off, but I can stop thinking that Oliver is looking at me. I feel his eyes burn into the side of my face but when I turn around he’s looking anywhere else. Maybe he knows. I’m halfway out the door to apparate when curfew is announced. “Going for a late-night stroll?” Oliver shakes his head with a laugh.

“No, no just getting some fresh air before bed.” 

  
“You know they changed the curfew rules last year; coaches who’ve been here at least three years can go out now.”

“Really?”

  
“Yeah. Wanna go for a walk?” I can feel my face heating up. He’s being so weird! I brush past him, bumping his shoulder on the way to the room.

  
“Not tonight,” I say harshly.

  
He gives me a strange look. It’s half disappointment and half irritation. If I wasn’t crazy then I might let myself believe that the longing there is real. I hear him leave and close the door behind him. In the room, Rian is already asleep, so I press my face to the window to watch Oliver walk away. The glass cools my face and I feel my heart start to slow. It’s dark, so I can’t see much. He stands there, kicking dirt around for a few moments. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to do. He starts to head back. I freak out and jump into bed, trying to gather some pillows into a wall. Soon after he comes into the room and rolls over me and the pillows, probably thinking that I am asleep. For some reason, he frowns at me. I can see him through the small open spot in the covers. 

  
When the sun filters in through the windows I turn around and see that the pillow wall has been dismantled and that Oliver is nowhere to be seen. I grab a quick breakfast and then pull on some joggers and head out for a run before training starts. As I’m coming back I see Alasdair and Oliver talking to each other in front of the hut. “Good morning,” Alasdair says to me casually. Oliver smiles, but I can tell it’s a courtesy. He’s not actually happy to see me.

  
I go inside and try to look like I’m doing something important. Nothing really matters in the summer when you’re us, so it’s hard. If this were a Ministry internship then I could stack my papers or organize my pens. When Oliver comes in I turn around. “What was with the Great Wall of China last night?” 

  
I play dumb. “Huh?” 

  
He rolls his eyes, “Ha, like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  
“I don’t,” I shrug, avoiding eye contact.

  
He looks back, unimpressed. I notice everything: the noise his small breaths make, the way he tugs at his sweater, the tapping of his boots as he waits for me to say something else. There’s a dull ache in my stomach. I wish he would notice my details too. The things that make me more than any other person.

  
“The pillows. You stuffed them in between my side and your side as if you were scared to touch me. I don’t have a skin disease you know.”  
I shake my head. There’s not really an excuse that would make sense. I just say the first thing I can think of. “I think I’m getting a cold,” I say, “I didn’t want to get you sick.”

  
“Oh, okay.” He says. I can tell he doesn’t believe it.   
“See you on the pitch in ten,”

  
Oliver avoids me the rest of the day. I keep trying to catch his eye. I don’t know why he’s so upset. How could the pillows have hurt his feelings? Maybe he thinks I’m mad at him and he doesn’t want to bother me. That sounds like something Oliver would do.

  
At dinner, the only thing he says to me is, “Pass the salt.” That night when we get to the hut he goes straight to the room and before I get a chance to talk to him he’s asleep at the very other side of the bed. I figured I would ruin our friendship someday, but I never thought it would be like this. I thought it would be this horrible moment where he stared at me like I was growing a second head and then told me that he could never be friends with someone like me.

  
Three weeks later and still barely any words. Rian has sensed the tension and without asking has divided his time between us. He spends some nights with me and some nights with Oliver. None of our kids have said anything, and neither has our coach. The kids are too busy perfecting their spins and hits and our coach doesn’t give a crap about us as long as we’re not out getting the girl coaches pregnant.

  
Everything is silent indignation. Neither I nor Oliver is being fair with each other. We’ve gotten used to our bizarre separation. The strangest part is that we didn’t even fight. I can hardly remember what we got so worked up about. Something about pillows I think. We break up fights between teams and high five people when they’ve acquired new skills. We never look at each other though.

  
But things change on the third Saturday. Saturdays are our camp free days. Today the heat is sweltering and the camp is nearly deserted; all of the kids have gone up into the lush mountains and hills around the arenas to explore. Quite a few of the younger coaches went down to the lake and I suspect that Rian and Oliver are there ogling the perky London girls that haven’t stopped flirting with us since breakfast on the first day. In the morning I go to the pitch for a few laps around the arena. The wind on my skin is relaxing and I’m proud of myself for improving my times since taking leave from my team. Eventually, I get bored and decide to go get my swim trunks to join the boys. I head down to the hut. I don’t even bother knocking on the bedroom door. No one is here. 

  
The door is silent as I open it and I don’t realize what I’m seeing right away. But there is Oliver’s head under the covers. At first, I think that he’s sleeping but his eyes aren’t completely closed and then I see the covers twisted around his body and his quick movements. Then he sees me and I know.

  
“Shit! I’m sorry.” I flush, trying to think of something, anything else and fleeing the room. I stand in the kitchen awkwardly, trying to calm my mind. He comes out a few moments later. As he’s washing his hands in the sink he says, “I didn’t think there was anyone here.”

  
“Neither did I,”

  
“Sorry—”

  
“—Sorry,” We’ve said it at the same time. Then we both laugh. “You’re not,” he chuckles, “You’re not going to give me the ‘it’s a perfectly natural thing’ Dad talk are you?”

  
I can’t help it, I laugh. I laugh really hard. He wraps me in his arms and claps my hand in a shake. “Let’s not fight anymore.”

  
“Were we ever evening fighting for real?”

  
He laughs again, “No, I don’t think so.” 

  
Then we become us again. Rian tells us he’s glad when we arrive at the lake clutching our towels and laughing. We spend the rest of the day pushing each other around in the fresh cerulean water and laughing at Rian’s bad attempts at flirting. Oliver asks me what I’m doing for my 21st birthday, we talk about his dog, and we discuss our quidditch plays. Everything is the way it was when we were younger.

  
I remember us in the last of our teenage years. There was no animosity left between Oliver and me by the time he was in his last year. He said he admired me for being the youngest captain at the time. I was sixteen when he left school. We were friendly but we didn’t become close until we first coached together, which was the year before I left school. I didn’t like him back then. Things were just the way they usually were between mates. We snuck out, told secrets, drank until we dropped. I put my Triwizard cup up next to his Hogwarts Cup quidditch trophy and we joked that they made a happy couple. That first summer was Oliver’s first time with a girl. I helped him crawl back into the window of the room and he sat on my bed telling me the whole story. There was a shining light in his eyes. His cheeks were all flushed from the evening wind and his fingers were shaking with excitement and fear. That’s the face I think of when I miss him. When I’m lonely at night and I wish he was there holding me, that’s what I see.   
I’m happy now. It starts to feel as if he’s slowly leaving my system. I can finally sleep, even though I know he’s there. It doesn’t feel like it should mean something anymore. Things start to go quickly now and I wish they would slow down or stop altogether. A frozen picture of these moments would be perfect. 

  
When Oliver’s competitive nature starts to come out in our playoff preparations I know that I fooled myself thinking I could fall out of love with him. There’s this energy that comes off and hits me like a lightning strike. Every time I think that I’m finally floating away he reels me back in. 

  
One afternoon we’re standing on the field watching the kids do passing drills when Oliver moves closer to me. “Do you want to go out and get steaming fou tonight?”

  
“Huh?”

  
“Brahms and Liszt? Tipsy?”

  
“Ah,” I suppress a laugh and ask him if we’re bringing Rian.

  
“Nah, we don’t have enough. Just you and me like old times.” I smack my lips and nod. It sounds like a good idea to me. We’ve been so wound up trying to get our team to the champion title that we’ve barely had any fun lately. “Hey, Davenport! Don’t just shove the Quaffle where do you expect it to go?” He turns back to me, shaking his head, “Will he ever learn?”

  
I spend the rest of the day in quiet anticipation for that night. Mostly I’m happy he’s invited me to do something. There’s a small anxious voice inside of me though that is worried about what I might say if he gets too much alcohol in me. I don’t want to tell him that I love him. Things have finally just gotten back to normal. When the moment finally arrives I’m having second thoughts, but I grab a thick flannel anyway and follow him silently out the door. We decide to go to the lake. When we get there Oliver grabs some firewood and throws it all in a pile, flicking his wand at it. We sit by the flames and pass a flask back and forth. That night we talk about everything. When the subject of what we’re doing after quidditch comes up, Oliver gets uncomfortable. “You want to work in law, right?”

  
I run a hand through my hair and shrug, “Yeah. I’m going to school part-time.”

  
“I knew that. I don’t know why I was asking about it,” Oliver says.

  
“What about you?”

“Uh, me?”

“Yes,” I frown at him. Maybe he doesn’t know and I’ve brought up something sensitive. He looks away from me, tilting his head towards the ground. He takes another swig from his flask and passes it to me. It’s a shiny silver thing, with a small Gryffindor logo on the front side and his last name etched in the bottom. I take a swig too. The whiskey feels warm in my throat.

  
“I honestly don’t really know. I guess I’ll just coach.” Quidditch players don’t stay directly in the game for long. We all have to have a plan for what we’re doing afterwards. If you don’t manage to figure it out by the time you’re done, you have no choice but to coach. Oliver’s whole life is quidditch, I know he’d play until he was eighty if he could. “I just got out of the reserves. I don’t really want to think about it.” I understand that. I’m still in reserves, it’s the reason I have time to go to school. 

  
“We don’t have to talk about it,” I say, smiling at him and putting my arm on his shoulder. For the first time in forever, it’s a purely friendly gesture. Normally I just look for any excuse to touch him, but now I just want to give him comfort. There’s no ulterior motive.   
As the night gets darker we get drunker. The fire dies down and we decide to head back. We spend the five-minute walk to the hut shushing each other and laughing loudly. Stumbling through the grounds, we knock things over and I’m surprised we make it back to our hut without a senior coach or Alasdair coming out and getting mad at us. 

  
In the room we strip down to our boxers, tossing our warm clothes on the floor and moving erratically, trying to avoid the creaky floorboards. If Rian woke up because of us he’d be so pissed off. We tumble into bed and giggle like fifth-year witches. We’re both well and truly out of it but Oliver is completely sloshed. He tosses around like he’s in a ballet. “Oliver quit it!” I grab his wrists and try to stop him from moving so much. He resists me and we start roughhousing. I elbow him and he lets out a soft groan. My stomach aches when he jabs his knee into it. I roll on top of him and try to put him in a chokehold. Then he gives me this look, and I don’t know what it means. I’m not sure if he’s okay so I let up my hold on him and give him a look of concern. “You oka—.” I start, but before I can finish asking he’s smashed our heads together. At first, I think he’s made a mistake and he meant to knock me out, but his lips are moving with purpose. He’s… He’s kissing me. It’s rough and wet. I can’t imagine that he’s normally this slobbery, he is sloshed after all. It’s not a great kiss but it’s the best moment of my life. Then I’m horrified that it’s only because of our rowdy outing. He won’t remember any of this tomorrow, or he will and it will just be a mistake. We stay pressed together for a moment longer before he pulls back.

  
“Cedric?” He’s doe-eyed. “Ced, say something.”

I collapse against him. “Why were you mad at me before?” I whisper into his neck. 

  
“I wasn’t mad,” he slurs a little, “I thought that you’d found out I wanted you to beat me off. The pillows, I mean the wall. I… For a while, I thought you wanted nothing to do with Oli the Poof.” 

  
I laugh. This is so stupid. “How long have—?”

  
“Let’s just say you practically destroyed me when you abandoned camp for Croatia,” he laughs quietly. I kiss him. Pressing my body as close as I can to his I take a moment to bask in joy internally. He runs a hand along the inside of my thigh and I breathe out hard. It comes out of my nose and mouth with a shudder. We crack up at every soft sucking sound of our lips and awkward nose bump. Every action that makes this go further is met by a loud hush of, “No, you’ll wake Rian.” But Rian snores on happily on the other side of the room. No matter how close we get it’s not close enough.

This is the best night of my life.

  
At dawn, I hear Rian coughing and it feels like it’s coming from above us. My eyes are sticky with sleep. Running my hands across them I blink a few times and Rian’s shape comes into focus. I get an instant headache from the sight we must be. Oliver is still naked and asleep next to me, his legs entangled in mine and his right arm laying over me. Rian tries not to laugh and tells me to wake him up or we’ll be late for lessons.  
  
He leaves and I lean down to whisper in Oliver’s ear. “Ol.” He mumbles and murmurs, turning around and putting a pillow over his head. “Oliver, the last game is in a week,” I say. He takes the pillow off of his head immediately and opens one eye. The light is catching the hazel beautifully.

  
“What did you say?” He’s not very impressed with my trying to get him out of bed.

  
“Our last game, it’s in a week, and we need to win.”   
He pushes himself up and sits on me. “You have to stop being so damn handsome.” He gives me a big long kiss, then he scrambles for his gear and becomes a wrack of nerves for quidditch like the Oliver I know. 

  
The last week has arrived. Rian makes a point of camping out in the living room but nothing else happens between me and Oliver, besides our good night kisses. He sleeps in Rian’s bed and I sleep in ours. If it had been this way from the beginning then maybe none of this would have ever happened. We would still be best friends, tiptoeing around our feelings for each other. A muddled feeling of confusion, like milk when it hasn’t quite mixed in with the tea. We get our sleep. Oliver needs it so he can be the intense student coach he is. The way he supports the kids but guides them the right way is so admirable. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if he ended up coaching.

  
We do a trial game where Oliver and I head the teams. It feels like we’re back at Hogwarts, on opposite teams. But it’s better this way. Whenever he blocks a goal he shoots me a big grin. There’s always a hint of smirky self-satisfaction, but I think it’s cute. I can’t believe this is my life. I’m so distracted I nearly get hit with a bludger three times. 

  
The game is quick but the points are pretty even by the time Dara Abbott, Oliver’s seeker gets the snitch. We’ve proved that all of our kids are ready to be the team to beat. That night we have to go talk with our coach and decide who starts in the last game at the end of the week. 

  
Once it has started it’s all over. We’re packing up our things and looking over the final plays before the last game tomorrow. I decide not to bring up the topic of what’s going to happen between Oliver and me up. We haven’t been doing whatever it is we’re doing long enough. We’re adults, it’s not like we can’t make adjustments to our lives for each other, but we’re on rival quidditch teams and we have different futures. These are all of the questions I don’t bother asking myself. I put the feelings in a room to think about later and try to enjoy our last night all together.

  
“Can you sleep in our bed tonight?” I ask shy when Rian has fallen asleep on the sofa. Oliver is sitting in a big armchair next to the fire, looking over the plays for the billionth time. He doesn’t answer me right away. His eyes sweep the rises and falls of my body. At first, I feel self-conscious but then I realize what exactly he is up to and my heart swells as if it’s on top of the Great Wave. He’s noticing my details.

  
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” He smiles. Then he looks up at me again and sternly says, “But we have to _sleep_. We’ve got a big game tomorrow.”

  
I roll my eyes and he winks at me. 

  
  
The last few hours are tangled in my heart forever. The game is intense. We sit in the stands cheering for our team. Colours fly left and right and if it weren’t for the announcer we’d have no clue what is going on. It’s a rare feeling for everything to be good. Typically no matter how happy I am there’s always something, an ache of some kind. In a few hours, it’ll be Oliver that I’m aching for. Maybe we won’t see each other again until next summer. But for now, I have this moment, so I knock my hand against his, and he takes it with a soft smile. Everything is in technicolour.


End file.
